


Falling

by amiyrasmom



Series: Falling [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiyrasmom/pseuds/amiyrasmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love with his best friend was easy.  Telling him, on the other hand, was a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Realization

**Author's Note:**

> The characters are not mine. 
> 
> First fic on AO3. Will be updated everyday. Let me know what you think.

The Realization

John Hamish Watson would later decide that falling in love with his best friend was easy. More than likely it was the easiest thing he'd ever done, in fact. He had simply looked up at his best friend one evening as the other man had glared up at the ceiling in his "thinking pose". Sherlock's blue-gray eyes caught the light from John's lamp making them seem silver and his dark hair had seemed to glow nearly blue. Suddenly as he was halfway between a fond chuckled and a head shake his brain said "Oh. Right. He's absolutely beautiful and I am in love with him."

Half of a second was given over to the inevitable panic attack and then his brain continued with "It's all fine." And just like that he was calm again. Calm and in control of himself and the knowledge of his own feelings.

It was almost funny how anticlimactic the realization was, John thought. It wasn't a realization that was of earth shattering importance to anyone including himself. His heart didn't stop nor did his breathing after that first half a second. It was almost as though the feeling had always been there just waiting for him to realize it and recognize it for what it was. Which only made sense to him when he thought about it. He'd never considered himself anything but straight but now he realized that labels were a thing of the past and if pressed he'd have to consider himself Sherlocksexual rather than homosexual or heterosexual or even bisexual. Labeling himself was futile because Sherlock would always be the only person on the planet to ever hold his heart again.

Nothing changed in that moment of realized knowledge, except that John gave himself permission to acknowledge that Sherlock was the center of his universe. However that really wasn't a hard acknowledgement to make. Sherlock had been the center of John's universe almost from the moment he'd handed Sherlock his phone in the lab all those months ago. Now John could just actively know it instead of that thought simmering silently in the back of his mind. It was a relief actually to know he loved Sherlock; it explained so much about his reactions to his flatmate.

Love was a funny emotion, John decided. In the books and movies it consumed a person, love and the person the character had fallen in love with became all the character thought or cared about. The feelings of so called love ate away at the person in love until they were sick with it. In reality as opposed to the books and movies love was simply there, like air or knowing how to count. It didn't change John's personality. Even after he realized that he was in love with Sherlock and wanted to spend the rest of his life with the other man he still yelled at him for putting the heads in the fridge next to their food and the experiments that caused damage to the flat and still told Sherlock off when he was rude, which seemed to be happening less but still happened more than was socially acceptable. In essence nothing changed in John's life and yet everything did. Everything became just that bit more intense and beautiful.

A few days after that moment in the parlor John decided that the best course of action for him to take regarding his newly discovered feelings would be to tell Sherlock how he felt. Sherlock was unpredictable at the best of times so it was probably the best idea was that John would have some control over the situation. The genius Consulting Detective would eventually deduce his change of heart and if Sherlock figured it out himself then there was no telling how he'd react. There was no telling how he'd react anyway but at least if he went cold and silent then John would know why.

John would have to tell him and let him know that nothing needed to change. Best friends suited John just as well as lovers. John didn't need his feelings returned. He was perfectly happy with the way things were. That was what he would tell Sherlock when he confessed his love. Then Sherlock wouldn't feel pressured to return his feelings and he wouldn't leave or force John to move out.

All right so maybe he wasn't perfectly happy with the way things were now, but Sherlock didn't need to know that. John did want to be able to show Sherlock how much he was loved but it wasn't essential, not like Sherlock's mere presence in his life. He needed Sherlock to be, that was all. He could live with just being Sherlock's friend as long as he could still see the other man. So no, he didn't need to have Sherlock love him, he only needed Sherlock to never leave his life. Not to say that he wouldn't love it if Sherlock did return his feelings. That would be the best end to the situation but he wasn't going to hold out hope for it. It was too ludicrous.

Sherlock needed to know all of this before he deduced it for himself and became angry, confused or fearful. Any of those three emotions that his friend claimed not to have would lead to disaster for them both. Sherlock would leave and John would never be able to find him. Mycroft may even become involved and then everything John had worked for would collapse. Mycroft would never allow his brother to be harmed, physically or emotionally and so he would hide Sherlock from John and probably have John harmed or killed.

Yes, falling in love with his best friend was easy; telling him in the right way, at the right time and in the right place on the other hand, was a nightmare of epic proportions.


	2. Angelo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelo's was where they had their first dinner together. Can John say the words burning in his throat?

**Angelo's**

The first time he tried to tell Sherlock he loved him they were at Angelo's. It was after all, their place. They'd had their first meal together at Angelo's, well John had eaten and Sherlock had watched him but that was how it normally went. Sherlock never ate when he was on a case but he liked to watch as John ate. And after a case Angelo's was the best bet to get some food into Sherlock's system. Angelo seemed to instinctively know Sherlock's favorite foods and he made them with a flair that left the world's only consulting detective ravenous.

John had never brought any of the girls he'd dated to Angelo's. It had never felt right to him and he knew that bringing any woman into Angelo's would cast a pall over their date. It didn't matter that the food was amazing and the wait staff excellent. Angelo's was his and Sherlock's place. Not to mention that Angelo would probably call Sherlock and then he'd come and deduce John's date and she'd run off crying, it had happened before. The restaurant would be a good spot to confess his feelings, if a bit sentimental, John decided as they walked in. Sherlock wasn't big on sentiment but maybe he'd appreciate John's efforts anyway.

Billy had seated them at their usual table by the window with his usual good humour and a smile for them both and they'd both ordered dinner, for once. John hadn't even had to force Sherlock to order something this time. John grinned at Sherlock in amusement and exhilaration. They'd just finished a rather simple case and they were both high on the adrenaline of chasing a criminal through the nighttime London streets.

Together they were laughing over the look on Anderson's face at the crime scene they'd just left. He'd been rather put out when John had pointed out a clue he'd missed. Sherlock had been awed at his soldier and had complimented him in front of Anderson while insulting the forensics technician in the same breath. Really though, a knife stabbing looked completely different from a sharpened pipe stabbing. Any first year med student knew that.

Sherlock's smile was as open and uninhibited here as it had been delighted at the scene. That smile was one of the one's only John ever saw.

Sherlock had many different smiles. There were the ones for the public, those were the polite ones that John forced on him. Soft commiserating smiles for witnesses, that were as faked as the public, polite ones. Smiles for Lestrade, not quite as faked but still guarded. Sherlock respected Lestrade and sometimes even felt something like affection for him but he was still an authority figure and not to be completely trusted with things Sherlock would rather keep private. Smiles for the New Scotland Yard teams, which were always predatory and sardonic. Smiles for Mrs. Hudson, soft and oft times confused that she truly liked him. No smiles for Mycroft, Sherlock would never grace his brother with anything resembling a smile unless it was a smile of a shark before it ate you. But the smiles for John when it was just the two of them were open and usually delighted. John had catalogued every single one and he liked the ones aimed at him the best.

Like the one Sherlock was giving him now. The light from the candle Angelo always put on the table to make things more romantic was doing beautiful things to Sherlock's grayish eyes. The blue of them sparked and lit up with an inner fire. John never wanted that expression to leave Sherlock's face. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

In a moment of quiet, their laughter silenced for that one moment, John was caught in those bluish-gray eyes. He was overcome by the feeling rising in his chest and he knew if he didn't say the words they would choke him. It was time. Time to let the chips fall where they would. Time to find out what would happen when he told Sherlock how he felt. No matter what happened in the next five minutes at least he would know that he wasn't a coward. Sherlock would see that John's feelings didn't have to change anything between them and they could go on working and living together for eternity. That was all John wanted…well, he wanted more but being with Sherlock for the rest of his life was all he needed from the other man.

"Sherlock?" Was his voice really as shaky as he thought it was? God, he hoped not. He closed his eyes in a long blink and prayed Sherlock hadn't deduced everything already. His eyes reopened and he trained his hazel gaze on the man sitting on the other side of the table.

Those laser-like bluish grey eyes focused on him and he was drowning in their depths again. "Yes, John." Sherlock's eyes still shined with mirth but there was something else behind the mirth. Something John wasn't sure he could identify. He wasn't even sure he wanted to identify it. Maybe Sherlock already knew of his love and was acting as though he didn't to spare John the shame and pain of rejection. Not that Sherlock would particularly care if he hurt John…would he? This had to be the worst pitfall of falling in love with a sociopath.

He swallowed thickly, his heart suddenly beating way to fast to be healthy. "I…" he stumbled over his words. What if Sherlock already knew? "I just wanted to say…" He stopped again. Could he take a complete rejection of his feelings? No, it would destroy him. "I wanted to tell you that what you did back there, that was amazing." John was so disappointed in himself. Where had all his bravery gone? He winced in his head. Sherlock would surely reject him now, if he ever got up the courage to try again, that is.

He looked at his flatmate and best friend again only just realizing that he'd looked down at his half-empty plate while he spoken. Sherlock was staring straight at him and was he seeing things? He blinked. Had Sherlock just looked disappointed? No, it couldn't be. Sherlock didn't know. Not yet. He couldn't know. He would though. John just needed to get the timing right.


	3. The Flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 221B might be the perfect place to confess. It's where they live after all. Right?

**The Flat**

 

“Tea?”  John asked Sherlock a few days later at the flat.  They had caught another case and Sherlock was deep into his pacing and rambling to the skull and John and thin air as he worked through the clues.

Sherlock didn’t answer him.  John wasn’t even sure his flat mate had heard him.  Sherlock was pacing and talking a thousand miles an hour.  His dressing gown flapping in the wind of his pacing and his voice so fast and excited it was nearly unintelligible. 

John felt the smile creeping up his cheeks as he sat down in his armchair.  The display was just so utterly Sherlock.  John set Sherlock’s tea on the coffee table and settled back to watch and wait.  Sherlock would eventually calm down enough that John would be able to understand more than one in five words tumbling from Sherlock’s mouth.

He had actually come to enjoy these moments immensely.  He was free from Sherlock’s laser gaze and knowing eyes.  When Sherlock was lost inside himself John could watch him with all the softness and love he held inside.  Sherlock wouldn’t ever notice.  It made this whole being in love with a sociopath thing so much easier when he didn’t have to watch every move he made and every word he said.

He should probably tell Sherlock how he felt.  The younger man would figure it out eventually.  He just couldn’t seem to find the right time or the right words.  He didn’t want to lose what he already had.  He really didn’t.

“John!  Are you even listening to me?”  Sherlock demanded hotly.

John started from his inner contemplation wondering how long Sherlock had been demanding his attention.  It did the dark haired man good to be ignored occasionally.  Reminded the detective that he wasn’t the only person in the world.  John grinned at Sherlock’s disgruntled expression.  “Nope.”  He told him cheerfully.  “Can’t understand a thing you’re saying when you talk so fast, Sherlock.”  He held up Sherlock’s tea cup again.  “Drink your tea.”

Sherlock scowled.  “I don’t want any tea, John.”  He snapped even as his hand shot out and lifted the cup from John’s hand.  He paced back to the fireplace and took a sip of the tea before placing it on the mantle and pacing back to the other side of the room.  “I was saying that it has to be the brother because the victim wasn’t married, according to her neighbors she had no boyfriend and most thought she was a lesbian and yet there was men’s cologne in her bathroom and…”  And he was off again, pacing and rattling off deductions at the speed of sound. 

John was pleased to note that every time Sherlock’s circuit of pacing led him to the mantle he stopped and took another sip of the tea.  John thought about putting an apple or some other fruit there to see if Sherlock would unconsciously take a bite as he passed but that would be an experiment for another time.  Sherlock would become irritated and grumpy if John moved from his seat right now.  Sherlock always got irritated and grumpy when John wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

John chuckled under his breath and lifted his tea cup in a salute to Sherlock behind the other man’s back.  He was profoundly glad that he’d learned quickly how to deal with Sherlock’s mercurial moods.  Life would be unbearable without that little piece of knowledge.  Sherlock may pretend to not notice when he was gone but it was just a façade.  Sherlock always knew where he was and he enjoyed pretending to be irritated when John was gone.

John knew that Sherlock was more than a little controlling and manipulative but really it wasn’t always a bad thing.  Sherlock couldn’t manipulate him if he didn’t allow the other man to do it.  Besides Sherlock never manipulated him without good reasons and he never did it with malicious intent.

He watched Sherlock prowl their parlour with a faint smile.  Suddenly the feeling of his love for this insane, gorgeous, brilliant man was nearly suffocating.  He took a deep breath knowing that now was the time.  Now was the perfect time to tell Sherlock that John loved him. 

It made sense to do it here, actually.  This was their home.  Their sanctuary from the rest of the world and this was the place where John had realized that he loved Sherlock with every bit of his soul.  It was good.  It was fine.  He could contain Sherlock’s reaction here.  And Sherlock was always more relaxed in 221B.  He dropped his cold mask inside these four walls and smiled more. 

But he couldn’t even bring Sherlock’s name to his lips.  He opened his mouth again but no sound made it from his throat.  What if Sherlock hated him now?  What if he told Sherlock about his feelings and the younger man stared at him with disgust?  What if Sherlock was uncomfortable living with someone who held feelings he could never return?  John swallowed the bile rising from his stomach with difficulty.

He could survive without Sherlock’s love.  He wouldn’t, couldn’t survive without his friendship.  Perhaps it would be better to let Sherlock figure things out on his own.  Maybe then he’d realize that John never intended to act on his feelings.  Then they could go on being flat mates and best friends and nothing would have to separate them.  That may be best after all.

John leaned his head on the back of his armchair and closed his eyes.  He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t a good idea.  He was a coward.  He had to tell Sherlock.  He knew he did.  It was the only way he could salvage any semblance of a friendship with Sherlock.  Sherlock never appreciated it when John kept things from him deliberately.  He should just blurt out the truth and let whatever happened happen.  This was never going to end well.  No matter what he did it would change their entire relationship.  But not now.  Later.  He would tell Sherlock later.  When he’d come to grips with the thought of losing him.

Anger at his own cowardice crushed his heart but Sherlock didn’t notice.  Good, John would find a way to tell Sherlock that he loved him if it killed him.

 


	4. The Cab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will a cab ride give John the courage to confess?

**The Cab**

 

The third time John tried to express all that he was feeling for the World’s Only Consulting Detective was in the quiet cocoon of a cab on the way to a crime scene.  The outside world was rain streaked and foggy.  It was more of a misty rain that seemed to simply hang around rather than fall from the sky. 

Because of the fog John wasn’t even sure that there was a sky tonight.  It seemed as though there was nothing beyond the warm cocoon of the cab.  No other people, no shops, no anything but the cab and the driver and Sherlock and him.

The fog blanketed their cab, them.  Cocooned them.  Protected them.  Everything seemed muffled.  Slow.  Surreal.  John ran a finger down the window, thinking.  He’d missed the rain and the fog when he’d been away.  Even though it made his shoulder ache now he still wouldn’t give it up.  He loved London.  Loved the hustle, the sounds, and the noises of the city.  The life, the heartbeat.

Sometimes John entertained the notion that London was sentient.  He knew Sherlock would probably laugh at him for it, which was why he’d never said it aloud.  Sometimes an alley would be a dead end when he was positive it hadn’t been before.  This phenomenon usually happened when they were chasing down a suspect.  Or at times when they had just finished a case and Sherlock was finally hungry Angelo’s would seem to just appear in front of them even if they had been all the way across London from the restaurant.

Yes London, with all its history and majesty, had probably soaked up enough humanity to become something close to alive.  And the city obviously adored Sherlock.  It kept him safe.  John felt that maybe he and the city were kindred spirits there.  He’d do anything to keep Sherlock from harm.

A rustle of cloth, Sherlock tapping his gloved fingers against his knee in thought, pulled him from his thoughts.  He could make out the outline of the other man’s profile in the reflection of the window.  It wasn’t quite a mirror right now but it was close.  Sherlock’s face was turned away from him, staring unseeingly out his own window with a small grin creasing his lips.

John fought down a smile of his own.  A triple murder in Westminster Abbey of all places and Sherlock was grinning like it was Christmas morning.  Wasn’t that just typical of the younger man?  Grinning over death.  It wasn’t decent and yet it was Sherlock.  He knew Sherlock would wipe away the grin before they got to the scene.  Only John was ever allowed to see Sherlock so unguarded, so happy.  It was one of the reasons John loved him so.

It came to him then.  He could do it this time.  Here in their own little bubble.  The fog keeping the rest of the world at bay.  Cloaking them.  The rest of the world meaningless.  Immaterial.  He could tell Sherlock he loved him.  He knew he could make the words come this time.  He had to.

He just wouldn’t look at Sherlock.  Yes that would work, he told himself.  Without those mind reading eyes he could spit the words out.  He hoped.  No, no thinking that way, Watson.  He could say the words that burned in his throat.  He would say the words that lay in his heart like a constant ache. 

“Sherlock?”  His voice filled the quietness of the cab and nearly deafened him.  It shocked him from the spell that had fallen over him with the fog.  His left had started its tell-tale tremble and he swallowed heavily.  What was he doing?  Sherlock was going to roast him alive.  But he had to confess.  He needed Sherlock to know.

“Yes, John.”  Sherlock’s voice on the other hand, was quiet and warm.  That deep, rich baritone that just seemed to crawl under John’s skin and into his heart.  It sent out tendrils, inviting him to return to that surreal otherworld.  Called to him to say what he needed to say. 

“I…”  Suddenly the cab was too quiet.  Too stifling.  John swallowed and looked out into the London night again.  Maybe the rain and the fog and the sight of the city they both loved so much would lend him the courage for this.  Do not look at Sherlock, he reminded himself.  He couldn’t do this if he saw those grey eyes dissecting him, those grey eyes that could cut a man down with merely a cold glance.  No, looking into those eyes was not a good idea at all right now.  “I…um…”

“Yes, John.”  He felt Sherlock turn to look at him.  Heard the rustle of cloth.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rainy London night.  Not and be able to say what he needed to say.  He could feel them though.  Feel those grey, grey eyes boring into the back of his neck.  Reading every reaction.  Every tensed muscle.  Every bead of sweat.  That intensity, not unlike the scope of a sniper’s rifle, burning into him.  He opened his mouth, closed it and squeezed his eyes shut.

His courage broke, ran away whimpering like a dog smacked on the nose with a rolled up newspaper.  John sighed, disgusted with himself again.  “Where are we going again?”  he asked inanely.  He truly was an idiot and a coward.  Why couldn’t he just say the damn words?

Did Sherlock just sigh?  John wondered to himself.  If he had it had only been because he had to repeat himself, probably.  “Westminster Abbey, John.”  John heard the rustle of cloth again as Sherlock turned away.  There had been some unidentifiable emotion in Sherlock’s voice just then.  Had it been anyone else John would have labeled it sorrow mixed with a bit of frustration.  But this was Sherlock.  He didn’t feel those things…did he?

“Oh, right.”  John nodded and would have given himself a good slap if he had been alone.  What was wrong with him?  It shouldn’t be this hard.  Next time, he’d do it right, he told himself with determination squaring his shoulders.  Next time he’d tell Sherlock.  This cowardice couldn’t continue.

 

 


	5. The Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's at work. Sherlock prefers to text anyway, right?

**The Surgery**

 

The fourth time John worked up the courage to tell Sherlock he loved him with his whole heart and soul, the other man wasn’t even present.  John thought that maybe that would make this a bit easier and he could avoid the whole messy rejection bit…maybe.  Sherlock wasn’t above racing to the surgery to tear a strip off of John sometimes.

John was sitting behind his desk in his office at the surgery during a lull between patients.  He sat behind his desk holding his phone with both hands, debating, arguing with himself.  This time he was prepared.  This time he could tell the other man, his best friend that he loved him.  Really, he could.

Sherlock wasn’t there with his dressing gown or his coat or his cheekbones or his lips or those damn eyes that saw everything.  Everything except this most important fact.  Why was Sherlock not noticing this one little…well, huge thing about John?  It didn’t make much sense.  Sherlock knew everything about John with just a glance.  How had he missed John’s affection and love of him?  Was Sherlock really that out of touch with human emotions?

It didn’t matter.  Who knew why Sherlock was missing John’s love.  John didn’t and at the moment he didn’t care.  He was going to make the taller man aware right now.  There was nothing to stop him this time. 

He flipped open the phone.  His fingers trembled on the keys, but he smiled, knowing that he could say what he needed to say.  Sherlock preferred to text anyway.  This was a good idea.  It would show Sherlock that John knew him better than anyone.  Maybe he wouldn’t be angry or worried or scared now.  Texting was Sherlock’s favorite form of communication.  It just made sense to tell him in a text.

He stared down at the picture on his background.  He could do this, he told himself.  He had to do this.  Now, before Sherlock figured it out for himself.  John still thought that would be a disaster.  If Sherlock deduced his feelings…well, there really was no telling how he’d react.  Sherlock was unpredictable at the best of times.

“Just type out the damn message, Watson,” he berated himself fiercely.  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

_Oh, I don’t know,_ his brain whispered to him.  It sounded eerily like Moriarty’s voice and that was just creepy.  _He could kick you out.  You’d be homeless, friendless.  He could be sorry and let you stay and you’d always know that he didn’t love you back.  Wouldn’t that be a great way to live?  Constantly faced with the one thing you can never have, never touch.  He could just not care one way or the other and that would be just as bad wouldn’t it?_

John’s fingers clenched tightly on the phone.  He wasn’t sure if he could stand the pain of a life filled with Sherlock and yet so empty of him at the same time.  But he was positive that he couldn’t live a life without the mad detective in it.  He just couldn’t and he knew it.  He knew that he was dependent on Sherlock.  It wasn’t healthy.  But it wasn’t going to change.  He needed Sherlock.  Needed him in any way he could have him.  Nothing else mattered.  Nothing else had any substance.

Should he really tell him?  He asked himself.  What good would it do?  Telling Sherlock wouldn’t stop his feelings.  Would it ruin everything he already had with the other man?  Could he really afford to take that chance?

“Yes, damn it all!  I have to tell him.”  John growled into the silence of his office.  He had to take that gamble.  He had to know if there was any chance that there could be more between them.  He’d always played against the odds.  The payouts were bigger that way. 

John knew he was just a reckless as his best friend.  Maybe more so.  Sherlock could calculate possibilities and read people from the minutia of expressions; John didn’t have that advantage.  It never stopped him from jumping after the detective head first though.  He trusted Sherlock to get him out of any trouble he found.  He hadn’t failed him yet and John was convinced that he never would.

He focused on the phone in his hand again.  His heart rate sped up and a silly grin pulled at his lips.  He could do this.  He would do this.  Now.

He nearly dropped the stupid phone when it beeped in his hand.  Why?  He nearly moaned aloud.  Why did Sherlock have to choose now to text him?  He was so close.  He knew even without looking that it was from Sherlock.  Only his insane best friend could have such incredibly awful timing.

Fine.  It was all fine.  Just fine.  He’d see what Sherlock wanted and then send back a text containing his love.  Yes.  That would be just fine.  Everything was fine.

Trying his best to ignoring the sinking pit of dread in his stomach he opened Sherlock’s text.

_TEXT from:  Sherlock_

_To:  John_

_Yes, John.  We’re out of milk._

_-SH_

Figures.  John rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Of all the bloody timing.  He gave half a thought to just ignoring the text but he knew if he did then Sherlock would just text him every five seconds until he answered.  He was a child that way.  He heaved a heavy sigh.  Well, looked like that chance was blown.  He couldn’t tell him now.

Sherlock was obviously in one of his moods again.  He’d probably deleted the fact that John was at work again.  It always irritated Sherlock when he had to retrieve information from his deleted files.  His pout when that happened was actually kind of adorable.  John couldn’t help but smile a bit even if Sherlock’s untimely text had ruined his plans.  The taller man was just too adorable for his own good sometimes.

_TEXT from:  John_

_To:  Sherlock_

_I’ll pick some up on my way home.  Anything else?_

John tossed the phone onto his desk, rested his elbows beside it, dropped his head into his hands and groaned.  Why couldn’t he just tell him?  This pussyfooting around was really starting to get to him.  Why wouldn’t the words come?  Next time he had the chance he’d make them come.  No matter what.  He’d say the damn words if they killed him.


	6. The Crime Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are at a crime scene. Can John finally say the words?

**The Crime Scene**

 

The fifth time John’s feelings overwhelmed him to the point that he contemplated telling Sherlock they were at a crime scene and Sherlock was berating Anderson, again.  John chuckled under his breath at some of Sherlock’s insults and wondered when he’d begun to find them funny.  He really shouldn’t be laughing.  It was only that Anderson was such a complete prick and Sherlock enjoyed popping his egotistical bubble.  Really, Anderson was an idiot.  Crime scene or not, Sherlock’s insults were hilarious as long as they were directed to a deserving target.

“Really, Anderson, how could you miss a neon green sweater in a closet full of browns and blues?”  John shuffled his feet on the ground and stared down at them, letting Sherlock’s voice wash over him.  He loved the man’s voice.  Even when it was full of sarcastic fury.  “Every time I see you your idiocy amazes me more than the last time.  Seriously were you last in your forensics class?  A colorblind child could have picked that up.”  Sherlock was on a roll tonight.  The words and invective just spilling from his mouth.  It was glorious.

It was also time.  Time to confess.  Time to give voice to the feelings roiling in his heart.  Absolutely. 

“Sherlock,” John said while Anderson spluttered in the background.  Not a question this time, good.  That was progress at least. 

Sheer joy pulsed through him.  He knew he could say it this time.  He knew that this was it.  He just knew that not only would he be able to say the words but that they would be reciprocated.  This would be the beginning of something that made those stupid, sappy movies and book pale in comparison.  Their relationship would be the stuff of legends.  He just had to say the words and they could become something more than what they were now.

He would rather Sherlock was looking at him but he couldn’t have everything.  Anyway, with Sherlock looking at Anderson then he’d be able to see Anderson’s shocked expression and describe it for John later.  That would probably be hilarious.  He wondered if Anderson would faint or have a heart attack.

“Yes, John.”  Sherlock nodded, turned his head and flashed him a bright smile all without taking his eyes off the fuming forensics technician. 

That threw John off for a split second.  Lately Sherlock said ‘yes John’ every time he said the other man’s name.  The smile was new but still…was this some new quirk of Sherlock’s to make him question his sanity?  John shook the confusion off quickly.  He had a mission to complete and there was nothing that was going to stop him this time.  He would tell Sherlock he loved him and they’d be the cliché and live happily ever after.

“Shut up, Anderson.”  Sherlock spat out with a scowl at Anderson.  Why was he angry now when only a second ago he was giving John one of those patented ‘you’re brilliant’ smiles?  “You’re dragging even John’s intelligence down and that’s hard to do.” 

John swallowed his gasp and fought the urge to take a step back and away.  Well, that stung more than just a little.  The words he’d wanted to say dried up in his throat.  That was just so epically exactly how his life went.  Sherlock probably hadn’t meant that as an insult but the words pushed John’s heart to a breaking point.  This was not good.  Not even a little bit.

Sherlock careless insulting words reminded John that Sherlock wouldn’t, couldn’t love an idiot.  And John was nothing to Sherlock if he wasn’t an idiot.  He told him that nearly every day.  Granted it was said with something like affection usually but tonight his words had struck like knives to the heart. 

Well, that ended that idea.  John could never tell Sherlock that he was in love with him now.  Sherlock wouldn’t ever be able to accept that love.  Or return it.  Not from a man like John.  Boring, plodding, unassuming John.  Right.  He’d have to lock up his feelings and forget about them all together.  It would be fine in the end.  He could manage to hide his feelings, even from himself, for the rest of their lives.  Yes.  He could do that.  Ignore the loneliness and the hurt.  Easy.

John snapped his mouth shut, closed his eyes for a moment and fought back the despair engulfing him.  It wasn’t fair.  It just wasn’t fair at all.  He wanted so desperately for Sherlock to love him back.  He wasn’t sure he could hide his feelings that well for the rest of his life.  The next few weeks would be intolerable and the emptiness of the future seemed even worse.  But he was a soldier.  He was used to living in untenable conditions.  He could do this.  It was better than the alternative.  It had to be.

“John?”  Sherlock asked quietly.  Was that hesitance in his voice?  It couldn’t be, John decided.  Sherlock was never hesitant about anything.

John mustered up a half smile and a shrug from somewhere.  “Sorry, Sherlock, I forgot what I was going to say,” John prayed to every deity he’d ever heard of that Sherlock would be too distracted by the crime scene and Anderson’s continuing complaints to see that he was lying.

He got lucky.  Sherlock only shook his head and smiled indulgently before turning his ire back to Anderson.  “See what you’ve done, Anderson?  Bravo!”  Sherlock’s words spewed his furious anger onto the forensics’ technician unrelentingly.

John tuned them out and let his heart shatter in the peace of his own mind.  He comforted himself with the thought that at least he hadn’t lost his best friend to this madness.  That fact wasn’t quite as comforting as he’d hoped though.  He was fairly sure that he’d rather have Sherlock in his arms and in his life.  This half-life wasn’t going to work for long.

John frowned to himself.  He was a soldier dammit!  He had slogged through jungles thick with insects.  Spent nights huddled into himself for some trace of warmth in the frigid air.  Sweated his way through desert sand dunes.  And all of it without a word or indication of complaint.  He could spend the rest of his life watching Sherlock from afar…well, beside him anyway.  He didn’t need Sherlock’s heart and he didn’t need Sherlock to know that he already held John’s.  He would bury his obviously inappropriate feelings and just spend as much time in the other man’s company as he would allow.  He’d be fine.  Just fine.

And if he spent every single night for the rest of eternity yearning for long arms to cuddle him close and wrap tightly around him that was no one’s business but his own.


	7. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I considered really hard about waiting on this chapter. I could have left it where it was and started posting the sequel. Sherlock's POV of these events. I decided that I wasn't quite that cruel. So here you are, the last chapter...enjoy.

**The Chase**

 

The first time John finally, _finally_ thank God the words had crossed his lips, allowed the words to pass his lips they were both out of breath from chasing a killer halfway across London and John didn’t even know he’d said it until later.  He was a bit busy trying to catch his breath at the time he’d said it so his inattention was understandable.

John leaned his back against the alley wall and stared in amusement as Sherlock calmly sat on their burglary suspect’s back and texted Lestrade to come pick his suspect up.  Sherlock’s cheeks were slightly flushed from the exertion and his grey eyes sparkled with excitement and triumph.  He was without doubt the most beautiful person John had ever been blessed to see.

“God, I love you, Sherlock.”  The words hung in the air between them but John was too busy trying to catch his breath to notice.

Sherlock glanced up sharply from his phone and sent his best friend a bright smile.  “Yes, John.”  John didn’t notice the relief, the joy or the love in that baritone voice.  Later, John would understand that Sherlock had been waiting for ages for him to finally get his act together but in that moment John merely saw the smile and let the butterflies have their way inside his stomach.

It was only after Lestrade had arrived and arrested the burglar/killer and the team had left that John realized what he’d said.  Had Sherlock actually heard that?  John reckoned that he probably had.  Sherlock didn’t miss anything that blatant no matter how much he scoffed at human emotions.  Maybe he could pass it off as a joke?  He didn’t want to though.  He did love Sherlock.  Loved him with an intensity that would outshine the sun.

There was no help for it.  He’d have to buck up and be a man.  Take his licks and pray they weren’t too painful.

He swallowed hard and looked over at Sherlock.  How was he going to take this?  Sure he hadn’t said anything rude or mean when he’d said it but still, maybe he was ignoring it until they were alone.  Sherlock did have some tact occasionally.  Not often but he could be polite when he wanted.

John’s eyes widened in shock at the sight before him.  The other man was beaming one of his special smiles, the ones only John saw and then rarely.  Why was Sherlock positively beaming at him?  Wasn’t he angry?  Confused?  John felt his own lips twitching in response to Sherlock’s overly obvious joy.  He just couldn’t help it.  Sherlock’s happiness was always infectious.

Eyes glittering, Sherlock turned from the departing light of the police cars.  “I’ve always loved you, John.”  He said with that bright grin still stretching his lips and making John’s knees tremble.

The words took a moment to filter from his ears to his brain.  Then it took a moment more for the meaning of them to become clear.  When they finally did John grinned.  Perfect. 

Sherlock had always been able to surprise John.  But nothing surprised him as much as Sherlock’s next actions.  Sherlock, the crazy genius detective, grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and thrust him against the alley wall.  Then his head lowered and their lips were fused together.  John didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so perfect, so right.  If he’d known this was the reaction his words would have received then he really would have told the other man earlier and saved them both a lot of agony.

Falling in love with his best friend was easy, telling said best friend of his love was a nightmare, living with and loving forever the same best friend was both the hardest and easiest thing in the universe.  And they lived mostly happily ever after.  But that is a story for another time.


End file.
